Reckless
by InvincibleEnigma
Summary: After the events of 4x05 Prophets, Root goes to Shaw. Things don't go as expected, but then again Root isn't exactly surprised.


Shaw opened her front door with a little more force than usual, causing it to bang against the wall. It had been a long day at Macy's, spraying customers with perfume and worrying about Root; Harold's words on the subject had been less than reassuring, to say the least.

Shaw threw her bag on the sofa and began pouring herself a glass of water when she heard a knock at the door. She quickly put the glass down and gathered her weapon, then slid up to the door silently before opening it a crack.

There on her front doorstep was Root. "Can I use your telephone?" The hacker asked. "I seem to have misplaced mine."

Shaw shut the door and put the gun back inside its drawer before unlatching the chain and opening it fully.

"My telephone?" she blinked, trying to decide if it was really Root in front of her, eyes clocking the sling.

"Yes," Root replied. "It's rather urgent. May I come in?"

After a moment's hesitation, Shaw moved aside.

"What are you doing here?" she finally asked, when Root was inside.

"Would you get me a drink?" Root said. "Getting shot makes you dehydrated."

Shaw got a mug and poured Root water from the same jug she had been using previously. She set it down in front of her guest, who was now seated on the sofa, simmering silently with questions yet unspoken. Anger was Shaw's comfort zone – it was the one emotion she tended to feel most clearly.

"Want to tell me what's going on?"

If she was fazed by her host's demeanor, Root didn't show it. Instead, she raised the glass to her lips with her good hand and sipped slowly.

"Ah, that's much better," she said, finally turning her gaze to Shaw. "Just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"You get shot and you want to make sure I'm all right?" Shaw asked, incredulous.

"Yeah," Root said, sobering for a moment. "Wanted to make sure you weren't about to do anything…reckless."

"Since when am I reckless?"

"Things are different now, Sameen. If you'd come looking for me, you would have been risking your cover."

"I know how to take care of myself," Shaw said with a touch of anger, feeling a familiar rise of heat up the back of her neck.

"Relax," Root said noticing her host's ire. "I'm just looking out for you, like comrades do."

"That's just it," Shaw responded, her fists clenching. "You look out for us, but you don't call for backup. You've been shot, what, five times now?"

"Six, actually," Root said, too nonchalantly for Shaw's liking. "Two holes this time."

"Look, Sameen," she continued. "Some things have to happen the way they happen. You're going to have to accept that."

Shaw took a deep breath before continuing. "Because She says so?"

For the first time, Root's eyes looked a little sad. "Because the alternative is worse."

And suddenly it all made sense to Shaw.

Root had gone into the confrontation with Samaritan's operative prepared to die; knowing that if she didn't, Shaw, or perhaps all of them, would have perished.

It wasn't noble, so much as stupid. Did Root really think they had a chance of winning against Samaritan without her?

"Get up," Shaw commanded, pulling her guest up by the lapels of her shirt.

Root winced at the sudden motion. "Sameen, what –

As soon as Root was standing, Shaw pulled back her arm and decked her square on the jaw.

Root gave a cry of surprise and anguish as she landed on her injured shoulder.

"You think you're invincible?"

Root lay still for a while before gingerly turning herself on her back with a small moan.

"This is exactly...what I mean," she said, between breaths. "You don't look...before you leap. It's going...to get you in trouble."

"Was The Machine looking out for you?" Shaw demanded.

"Enough." Root snapped back, her own ire raised. "A 16% chance of escape is better than none."

"16%?" Shaw asked derisively.

"This is war," Root retorted from her position on the floor. "There are no guarantees."

When Shaw didn't make any move toward her, she asked: "Are you going to help me up?"

"When I'm done talking."

"Fine." Root propped herself up slowly on one elbow, unable to hide a grimace. "I'm all ears."

"You're part of a team now. Don't go it alone unless you absolutely have to."

"There are things She needs me to do," Root hated to pull Her card, but she wanted Sameen to understand. "This was a good outcome. The number survived; and I made it out."

"We could have helped. Maybe not this time, but next time," Shaw said defiantly.

"The best thing you can do is keep your head down, Shaw. Trust Her." Prescience and uncertainty seemed to flicker in Root's eyes.

"I know you're not used to relinquishing control, but She really does have a plan." Root's voice softened. "She can see probable outcomes and plot the best path to reaching them. The best chance we all have of surviving."

Shaw finally stepped forward and offered Root a hand. "You're bleeding," she said indicating the red patch on the hacker's white shirt. Then she adjusted Root's sling gently, as if she hadn't just knocked her to the floor.

Root resisted the urge to be sarcastic, or worse laugh out loud. "I'm fine. Hospital's a few blocks down."

"Let me take care of it," Shaw said simply.

As if in response, Root swept her good hand across the coffee table by the sofa and knocked the mug onto the floor.

"What the –

"You invited me in to use your phone," Root's eyes became animated. "You got me a drink and I broke your favorite mug. In anger, you struck me across the face and decided not to let me use the phone after all."

"Now I'm going to go to the bathroom and do what I can to cover this – Root indicated the bruise forming on her face – and you are going to enroll in anger management classes."

"I don't need anger –

"You do if you want to maintain your cover," Root said, a grin pulling at her lips. "She built it into your profile, just in case."

"Wait," Shaw narrowed her eyes. "The Machine planned on me hitting you?"

"Not exactly. It's more like She knows you can be impulsive."

Shaw sighed. "Fine. Whatever. Just take it easy, okay? At least until," she nodded towards Root's shoulder. "That heals."

"Absolutely." Root chuckled.

"What's funny?"

"Oh you know, just that," Root tilted her head to the side. "You actually believed me."

The look on Shaw's face lent new meaning to the phrase 'if looks could kill', Root thought. "Samaritan didn't see any of this. Dead zones, remember? There's a reason I came to you."

"I'd hit you again," Shaw said, and Root believed her. "But even I'm not that mean."

"I do need to freshen up though," Root touched the bruise on her face. "And some painkillers would be nice."

To anyone else Shaw's expression would have looked uncaring, but to Root it looked like mild embarrassment. "Bathroom's that way. Use what you need."

In the five minutes it took Root to do her thing, Shaw found herself playing with various objects. Tennis ball. Fruit bowl. Knife. Anything to keep occupied. And when the hacker finally emerged, Shaw didn't see any sign of a bruise. "Maybe you should be the makeup artist."

Root made a sound of amusement as she turned to leave. "Hey, Shaw?"

"Hmm?"

"You have one mean right hook."


End file.
